


The Only Difference Between Martyrdom And Suicide Is Press Coverage

by Corvid_Knight



Series: Stabdad (Integrated Worlds) [8]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Angst, Dear lord so much angst, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Stabdad AU, infinity war crossover, please don't ask me what the title means because i didn't choose it, tags to be added as i think of them/get to the part with them, thanos's snop, well technically condy's snop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-14 10:56:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16491224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corvid_Knight/pseuds/Corvid_Knight
Summary: ....you know what, this is my NaNoWriMo project and i have a Whole Month to fix the summary, this is Fine. Anyway this is the infinitywarstuck fic i've been talking about for two months. prepare for pain.important?





	1. Chapter 1

_Dave Strider._

It's still...weird, waking up in someone else's room and realizing that the dread that rises up in your throat isn't something that needs to be there. It's really even weirder, when you roll over and realize you're in the pile of blankets Karkat made for you on the floor of his room, and that there's still a warmer spot next to you where he slept. 

(He won't sleep up on the bed when you're here. He wants to cuddle up next to you, wrap his arms around your shoulders and bury his face against your back so you feel his breath warm against you whenever you jerk half-awake in the night, soothe you back to sleep without ever waking up himself.) 

(It's weird. It's...good, so good that you don't have words.) 

Anyway. You roll over, panic for a sec when you realize you're not in your bed at home, feel the warmth where Karkat was not too long ago, and remember that Jack had you come over to the Vantas/Lejion/whoever-fucking-else-is-currently-resident household for the night, partly because he had business with three of the other black-phase carapacians he works with sometimes and partly because he knows that Karkat and the rest of his family always make you feel safe. Hell, Jack knew to call Karkat after that...incident with Cronus; he pays attention to how you react to things. 

Also weird. 

The point is, once you remember where you are, you're actually fine. Perfectly good with getting up off the floor, getting dressed for the day rather than the night, picking up each blanket and folding them as neatly as you can. (With a couple of the fluffier ones, that's not very, but knowing 'Kat, he'd just get them all out of sight under the bed and call it good.) 

By the time you get done with all that, Karkat's still not come back in to check on you, which suggests that he's probably gotten distracted by something else. Food or an argument with Kankri, probably. You kind of hope it's food; that'd mean you could steal some.

* * *

...surprisingly, when you find him in the kitchen, he's not doing either of those. Just...leaning against the counter, reading through what looks like a letter on that weird expensive paper you associate with official shit, a look on his face that you've never seen before. Kankri's here too, perched on a stool and staring at 'Kat like he's waiting to see what kind of explosion is coming. Meulin's on the other stool, hands moving too fast for your shaky knowledge of sign language to keep up with and cybernetic tail lashing behind her hard enough for you to want to doublecheck the distance between her and the counter for fear of her sweeping something breakable off. 

The whole atmosphere in here gives you bad vibes. Kicks off your instincts to get the fuck _out,_ find somewhere defensible and hunker down with a weapon, be ready for whatever the fuck's coming. You very nearly do that; if it wasn't for Kankri looking up and meeting your eyes for a second, you _would_ have done that. 

But he looks at you, and those goddamn alien gold eyes remind you that yeah, this ain't the apartment. No need to run. 

"Y'all look like somebody died." Karkat just barely twitches at your words, grumble-growling low in his throat and shifting his grip on the paper to move it up a bit. He doesn't look up as you cross the room (Meulin's tail smacks your arm as you pass, a surprisingly solid impact) but he _does_ put the paper down flat on the counter when you move up next to him, leaning into the hand you put on his shoulder. "Fuck, somebody didn't actually die, right?" 

You don't really think anyone did, but the possibility of you fucking up another conversation is usually enough to get Karkat to at least kind of react, and this isn't any exception. He shakes his head, that scowl not leaving his face until he completes the movement of twisting around to kiss your cheek, papping your other cheek gently as he does so. 

"Nobody died, dumbass." The tone he uses is gentle; doesn't even register as an insult anymore. Not from him. 

"The opposite, really," Kankri points out, crossing his arms defensively as Karkat bares his teeth at him. You're already sidestepping to switch which side you're standing on, put yourself between your quadmate (boyfriend?) and Kankri, rather than him and Meulin. "What? I'm right! She should have been _killed,_ not exiled—" 

"Shut up! Dad says—" 

"He's not always right and you know it! She shouldn't—" 

"Shut the _fuck_ —" 

...okay nope let's stop this shit right here. Karkat makes an offended squawk when you put one hand over his mouth; Kankri just shuts right up when you reach over and do the same to him. 

They're both quiet after a second, though. Meulin giggles, presumably at the sight of you standing there between the two of them; you look over your shoulder and roll your eyes at her, which earns you a thumb's-up and a bright grin. 

After a sec, you take your hands away, crossing your arms and giving Karkat as stern a look as you can manage when he opens his mouth again. "Dude. I'll do it again." 

"Fuck off, Strider." Still no real anger in that. Irritation, maybe. 

"Nah, I'd rather aggravate you." You dodge the halfhearted swat he throws, then snag the letter off the counter before he can intercept. 

Not that you can read it. You can _understand_ bits and pieces of the Alternian language, maybe even speak a couple words if you need to (like _I don't know Alternian_ ) but no way can you read it. To you, this is just a piece of paper that feels more like cloth, covered in ornate, dark pink squiggles that mean absolutely nothing to you. 

Well, almost nothing. You know that that particular shade of magenta is bad news; you've been out with Psii before and seen him go pale when his path took him too close to somewhere where it'd been used in the base architecture. It's Fef and Meenah's blood color, yeah, but when it's not related to them? 

Bad. 

"This from Feferi?" you ask, looking at Kankri as you hold up the paper. Somehow you don't think Meenah'd write out a letter when she could come over and say the shit in person. 

But he shakes his head. Doesn't answer, though. 

"Then who?"  
He doesn't answer. Neither does Karkat, when you turn to him instead; they both do that thing where they just hunch down the tiniest bit, frown almost solidifying like they're daring you to keep pushing, see where it gets you. (You wonder if they know how much they look alike right now.) 

Oh for _fuck's_ sake. You turn to Meulin, hold up the paper and point at it. It's not quite the sign for asking what the fuck this is, but it's close enough for her to understand, and to answer. 

"It's a letter," she says, which is extraordinarily unnecessary, "from the fishbitch. Condy. The Empress." 

" _Ex-_ Empress," Karkat growls.

" _Exiled_ Empress," Kankri amends. "Except she isn't." 

"Isn't what?" You're still not too sure what's going on, other than it's probably bad. 

"She's not exiled. She's _here_." 

"Shut the fuck up! She's not here yet, she might not even get here, she's just _bluffing—_ " 

"Don't delude yourself, Karkat, Dad wouldn't be this worried if she wasn't coming, he wouldn't be—" 

"She's not coming! She _can't_!" 

Fuck, Karkat's almost in tears, isn't he? 

"Hey." He jerks back reflexively when you put your hands on the sides of his face, and you let him because the alternative is to hold him when he's not ready for it, make him more upset than he is and not fix a damn thing. And letting him go is the right move, because after a moment he leans into your hands and shuts his eyes, which means you got the go-ahead to try and figure shit out. "What's going on, man?" 

Behind you, Kankri starts to say something. Meulin shushes him, loudly. 

"They fucking exiled her," he says, finally, "because she was a fucking _horrible_ bitch, everything that fucked Alternia up. And because she wanted Dad _dead_ , because he's a fucking mutant, like me and Kankri, she's going to fucking—" 

Oh, shit. Okay. 

You can't pap your quadmate properly. Just can't do it; like, it doesn't work. Still not sure why that is, but it's a thing; he's more likely to just brush the contact off or laugh at you if you try, and it's not gonna help you or him here...but you know what _does_ work, thanks to exhaustive trial and error. 

Karkat doesn't raise his arms to hug you back when you wrap your arms around him; he never does, when he's this upset. You know by now that that doesn't mean he doesn't want the contact, just that he doesn't quite trust himself to reach out, or that he needs a cooldown before he give you a reaction. He does lean into you, though, and that's good enough for you. 

"It's gonna be fine, dude," you not-quite-whisper to him. Then you look over his shoulder, at Kankri, and ask, "You're gonna want a hug in a sec too, huh?" 

It comes as absolutely no surprise to you when he immediately nods.


	2. Chapter 2

_Signless Vantas._

You hate the cloak. You really do. 

Once upon a time (six sweeps ago? Seven? How old is Kankri now?) it was a necessity and you made it a _choice_ , you wore the bright red (mutant red) stitching on the heavy black like a badge of honor you were told you'd never survive to earn. The cloak made you recognisable, made you _visible_ even as it sheltered you from true notoriety. It was a shield as much as anything, really; there were times when it was Dis with her horns hidden under the cloak, letting you pass by without being removed because the Empress's drones identify by scent rather than sight and those against you would always report the cloak rather than truly identifying the troll under it. 

It's saved your life, you suppose. 

You still hate it. It shouldn't be needed. Not anymore. 

But the fishbitch's summoned you, and you'll be damned if you don't dress the part. You are the Signless, the Sufferer, and if that means wearing a piece of clothing with this many bad memories attached, you _guess_ you'll do that. 

At least Dis doesn't have to really change her outfit. And at least Sollux intercepted Psii's letter before he saw it; you don't want to think about your poor moirail's state of mind, if he'd had to confront the possibility of his old mistress making her way back to anywhere in his vicinity. The Highblood isn't here yet; you're not sure if that's because he's not coming at all, or if he's just been delayed by his own children. Dualscar's been texting you for updates every few minutes. Darkleer's off somewhere at the edges of the portion of the spaceport that's been cleared for this mess, threatening those who've somehow gotten wind of who's about to be arriving and are trying to document it. Summ is— 

Dis's hand comes down on your shoulder, the hint of claws digging into your skin startling you out of your accounting of the others. Stupid to lose track of the one closest to you, really...

"Are you still okay?" she asks, and you have to sigh. 

"You're about to tell me something that's going to make sure the answer to that is 'no,' aren't you?" 

She definitely is. You know that even before she makes that small distressed/furious sound deep in her chest, before she says, "One of her ships just came out of hyperspace. We have ten minutes." 

Well. Fuck.

* * *

It's more than ten minutes. You feel like she's trying to stretch this ordeal out, foster that much more fear, but all that really happens is that most of the onlookers get bored and wander off, meaning both Dis and Darkleer are flanking you when the smaller transport ship lowers itself out of the sky. 

When she does decide you've waited long enough, the bitch comes in too fast. Of course she does. To her, the rules still don't exist. 

On your right, Darkleer's rumbling louder than the propulsion systems, when they shut off. You know exactly why, too; even without his training in the maintenance of this kind of system, you can hear the difference between the resonance of a ship powered by non-organic means, and one powered by...

Well. Powered by a psionic. 

That fucking ship has a helmsman wired into its hardware, and if Darkleer makes the decision to try to rip the Empress apart the moment that she steps onto this planet, you'll be right behind him. From the way Dis tenses at your left side, you know she knows this, although you're still not sure whether she's ready to restrain the two of you or join you in the charge. 

The former, apparently, because she grabs your hand as the hatch that serves as both door and ramp hisses out of the belly of the ship, bearing down until it hurts, until you give in and reach over to touch Darkleer's shoulder. He relaxes, slightly and unwillingly, but enough that you're...somewhat sure this isn't going to escalate. Not from your side, anyway. 

Hopefully not from hers. 

(Who the fuck are you kidding.) 

Dis lets go of your hand as the ramp lowers, and you hate the loss of contact more than you hate your cape right now. It lowers, Darkleer's growls spike up just a bit, and _she_ steps into view. 

She's not as tall as you remember. You think you forget the difference between physical presence and the feeling of the power she's always had; you don't remember her as just barely shorter than you. Her hair seems longer (possible) as do her horns (doubtful; eight sweeps isn't enough to make a difference at her age and caste.)

You look at her—look _up_ at her, because of course she doesn't advance down the ramp, she stands at the top and bares her shark-sharp teeth in a snarl that manages to stay on the right side of civility—and the memories from before you could let go of Rosa's skirts in a room of adults rush in. Something in the core of your being, the part of your mind that holds the mannerisms that've let your species survive this long, something there _insists_ that you need to kneel. You need to abase yourself, convince her that you're not a threat, submit to the Empress, the one who's as far above you as you are above a common dirtsquirmer—

Darkleer makes a choked-off sound, and there's a soft _thump_ as he falls to his knees. Ironically, that's the only thing that snaps you out of the not-quite-trance she's put you in, before you do the same thing. 

You remind yourself to reassure Darkleer that no, he didn't do anything cowardly, that you nearly did exactly the same thing. Then you look up at _her,_ meet her eyes, and cross your arms across your chest in a movement you hope doesn't look as defensive as it is. 

"You were exiled," you tell her. "We sent you away." 

"Oh, you shore did." (Oh. You've also forgotten how much you hated the way she twists the human languages around until they seem to revolve around her.) "Not far enough away, though." 

"We did that instead of culli—instead of executing you." Don't say _culling_. That's not what it was. What it would have been. 

"Like _you_ coulda culled _me_ , lil' fish." She rolls those deep pink eyes, shifting her weight from one foot to the other and raising one hand, and for a moment you think she's going to point at you for some fucking reason, for a moment you wonder how her taste in jewelry somehow got _more_ gaudy and tasteless, you think _is that just a glove from some kind of suit of armor gilded, painted gold—_

And then...she snaps her fingers.

* * *

 _Disciple Lejion._

That _bitch_ raises her hand, and your brain identifies the (tacky, hideous, shiny) gauntlet as a weapon for all of three seconds. Then you mentally clarify that yes, that's just a particularly ugly piece of jewelry, not a threat— 

Then she snaps her fingers. 

It's not a weapon. The snap makes a tiny, metallic noise, not even as sharp as a bone breaking. It's not a weapon; there's no sound, she doesn't even point it at you or at Sign or at _anyone_. 

It's not a weapon. 

It's not a weapon. You know it's not. But she snaps her fingers, and something happens. Something happens to Signless. 

He _changes._ Becomes less solid, less there; you see it begin to happen and you scream so loudly that you taste blood, you reach for him to try to do something, _anything_ , to halt the process of whatever she's done. Darkleer is on his feet again, lunging at that _bitch_ even as she retreats back into her fucking ship and the ramp begins to swing up, closer to being flush with the surface of the ship. He's never going to be able to get his hands on her and you know it; you're faster than him and you _know_ it, you might be able to get inside and rip her apart but—

You can't. 

" _Sign!_ " you scream, and you try to wrap your arms around him, you try to hold him, but you barely even touch him before he's gone. 

Your love fades away, dissolves through your hands, and as you fall to your knees and scream at the sky, as Darkleer pounds his fists against the smooth impenetrable metal, you hear the engines begin to cycle up again. 

You can't get up. Not without Signless. You _can't._

But if you don't, you'll lose two today instead of one, and you can't take that. 

Darkleer howls when you grab his wrists, but he doesn't strike at you. You wish he would; the pain of a broken bone would be better than this deep, awful ache at the center of your chest. Anything would be better than this. 

His hands are bleeding. That makes sense, but it's also what makes your vision blur with olive. Darkleer's already in tears, the ship's lifting off too close to you to really be safe...

...and your phone is buzzing in your pocket.


	3. Chapter 3

_Dave._

Jack Noir touches the center of your back between your shoulderblades, quick and just short of too gentle for you to feel it. Gentle enough that you don't flinch, anyway, which is saying something right now. 

(You...don't do so well with conflict. Like, to the point where Karkat and Kankri's renewed sniping had you absconding to the kitchen, where Jack found you when he showed up.) 

"We need to go, kiddo?" If you didn't know him so well, it wouldn't sound like a question. He's offering you a quick out and you know it; you have the option to act like it's _not_ a question. Shrug and nod and let him lead you out and not have Karkat assume you're abandoning him...even though you are. 

Well, you would be. If you did that.

Which you're not. You're not doing that. 

"It's cool," you answer, before the carapacian's slight frown can get any more noticeable. "You got any more idea than me on like, what the fuck's going on?" 

Jack just shrugs. If he knows, he's not telling. "The kids're fucking with one of Captor's laptops, though. Might give you some info." 

"Yeah." It means going back in the same room with the argument, but you can handle that, right? Right. Not a problem. 

Not much of a problem. 

You tell yourself that, and you still stop in the doorway. Jack's right; Kankri and Karkat're sitting on the floor, on either side of Meulin and both scooted so close to her you're surprised that she's able to type on the laptop on the low coffee table. Even from across the room you can see that half the screen's taken up by alternating yellowish, green, and red text—Hal must be contributing the video that's playing on the other half of the screen. 

Right now the vid's showing Disciple, Signless, and Darkleer from the back, shooting over their heads and focusing on a troll that you don't recognize. From the unflinching attention the trolls are showing this, though, you're pretty fucking sure who she's got to be. 

The Empress. 

"Fuck no," Jack murmurs, and then, louder and with a note of what sounds like panic, "No! How the hell—" 

"Jack?" As you turn to look at him, you catch the tiny movement of the Empress raising her hand onscreen. "What—" 

You've been with him for...what, three years? And no, it hasn't been a constant thing, not every fucking second of every day; Jack Noir is _infinitely_ less controlling than your former guardian. But you've stuck pretty fucking close to him for most of this time, and _never_ have you seen him react to pain. You've seen him bleeding from knife wounds—deep ones, bad enough that even Bro would've known they needed a fucking hospital—and all he did was swear at the guy who stabbed him. 

But at almost the exact moment that Kankri gasps and Karkat not-quite-screams for his dad, Jack makes a choked sound in the back of his throat and doubles over. The only reason he doesn't just hit the fucking floor is that you grab at his shoulders, trying to keep him up. 

"Jack! Fuck!" 

" _Meulin—_ " 

At Kankri's cry you can't help but glance over, and see that Meulin's just...gone. It's just Karkat and Kankri sitting there, the former typing into the laptop and swearing steadily under his breath and the latter staring at where she was a minute ago like he doesn't know what happened. 

You understand that. You don't understand what's happening either. "Jack—"

"Oh... _shit._ " He straightens up slowly, wincing as he does. His dark eyes don't focus on you even as he brushes your hands away, but neither do they focus on the computer across the room; it's more like he's barely present at all right now. "Shit. Kid?" 

"What's—" 

"Stay here. With them." Jack jerks his head at Kankri and Karkat, catching your wrists when you instinctively try to grab at him again. "Kid, I need you to promise me you'll stay safe with them until I get back." 

"What—no! Fuck no! You can't just leave me, Jack, th—that's—" 

Fear rises in your throat like a choking wave, and you can't _breathe_ for a second. More than a second. 

Long enough for Jack to let go of your hands and tell you, "I'm coming back. I swear." 

You still can't really breathe, but you can manage to pull in part of a breath and get out, "What's—going on—"

Not that Jack answers. He intercepts your hands when you grab for him again, turns you around and gives you a gentle shove towards Karkat. By the time you turn around again, the door's swinging shut behind him. 

...you thought you'd forgot this feeling of pure painful betrayal and abandonment. Guess not. 

Karkat's making small unconscious whimpering sounds behind you. Deal with that now, your own mental shit later. He doesn't look up at you as you sink to your knees beside him, won't stop typing until you pull his hands down. 

The video feed's frozen, and the text box's full of grey with touches of red, you see when you glance at the screen. No gold; Sollux ain't answering. 

As Karkat snarls helplessly and lets his head drop to your shoulder, you find yourself terrified of what that silence means.

* * *

_Mituna._

You're watching over Sollux's shoulder when it happens, because of course you are. This shit's something that worries you as much as anyone, even if you don't know how to show it; you know what the Empress's done to people like you and your family.

It's terrifying. It's _terrifying._ You can't see her without wondering how she'd try to force your damaged brain to give up the energy you can't control. The thoughts are bad enough that you can't help but press up close enough that Sol keeps huffing at you for how you're impeding his typing, but at least he doesn't push you away as long as you stay quiet. 

Staying quiet is a fucking imperative part of this process, because your dad needs to not know about this. The letter that would've let him know in the first place is pinned to your brother's wall with a shuriken he stole from one of the Striders, glaringly obvious next to the scribbled programming notes he's stuck up there with tape or pins. 

You keep looking at it, whenever you can't handle looking at _her._

"That'th a fucking weapon," Sollux mutters, pulling your attention back to the screen. "Fuck—c'mon, Hal—" 

It doesn't look like a weapon to you. Just a shiny gauntlet, some kind of weird jewelry maybe? And it's not like she's pointing it at anyone, just holding her hand up and—

Snapping her fingers. Once. 

Sollux's fingers still on the keys, and for a second you think he saw something you didn't. Then you look at _him_ rather than the screen, really look, and oh _fuck_ you're seeing shit again. You have to be seeing shit. This can't be real. 

" _Sollux!_ " Even if it's not real you can't help but scream his name, because he's _dissolving,_ nothingness racing from his hands up his arms, too fast for you to have time to grab for him to hold him here.

You try to grab him anyway, and get ahold of his skinny shoulders just long enough to pull him around to face you. His glasses go flying, either from how rough you can't help being or from the red and blue lightning crackling out from his eyes, and he meets your eyes for not even a second. Just long enough for you to read the shock and confusion on his face. 

Then there's nothing in your hands. No one. He's just _gone_.

You _howl,_ and behind you the door to Sol's room slams open. If you had any hope left that this is just another hallucination, it drains away as your dad's psionics rise around you.

* * *

_Vriska._

The first time you kissed Terezi you were both maybe five sweeps old, and she licked your cheek until you retaliated by biting her. That's pretty much how every makeout you've had with her since ends, really; bared teeth and maybe a bruise. _Very_ rarely blood, and more often yours than hers; she's the only thing you're really able to be careful with, and she knows you're almost proud of minor injuries. 

Sometimes you still slip up and bite harder than she's okay with, though. When she makes an offended noise and pulls back, you assume that's what happened. 

Except. 

She doesn't finish the motion of pulling back. She just barely moves and then goes completely still, and then she's somehow slipping through your hands. Like there's less of her here, suddenly, and then there's _nothing_ within the bounds of your arms. 

Terezi's red glasses fall into your lap, and all you can do is stare at them. You don't understand how they would've come loose of where she had them, one bow hooked over the neckline of her shirt. They couldn't fall. _Couldn't._

You don't understand. 

You don't understand, but neither do you panic. Not yet. That's still fifteen minutes in the future, when you'll have slid off the bed and onto the floor, sobbing and desperately redialing Aranea over and over again, cursing at her for not picking up. Begging her to pick up. 

You have fifteen minutes.

* * *

_Kurloz._

Mornings just ain't a good time for Makaras. You're the only one of your family who's halfway functional, and since you don't really contribute to the verbal conversation things end up being pretty motherfucking silent unless the Highblood feels the urge to start some kinda conversation. Even then it'll just be him talking, Gamzee making vague noises that can be taken whatever way he wants to take 'em. 

Today ain't a talking day. He's over at the sink pushing dishes around, looking for his cup; Gamzee's half-awake at the table despite the fact he should've been up hours ago. You've claimed the stool at the counter, texting Megido for info on what's going down at the spaceport and pretending not to see the way your dad's been giving you the evil eye over your seating choice. If he puts a hint of chucklevoodoos in it you'd move, but he probably won't. That shit's more for the serious matters. 

Gamzee knows what's going down here before you do, you think. Maybe he's more in tune with the pulse of the messiahs than you, maybe it's just motherfucking _luck,_ but a second before _it_ happens, he jerks and goes stiff in his chair, the bowl of flavored grubmeal slipping out of his hands and shattering on the floor. It'll leave green stains on the tile for days, you know, and you also know that your dad's going to be righteously pissed over it. 

You roll your eyes and set your phone down to have both hands free, but the growl you expect doesn't come, and when you look over to see if the Highblood somehow didn't notice the mess, you see that he's not there. 

_**What the shit?**_

Nobody responds to your mental query, and when you turn back to your bro the door's just swinging shut behind him, leaving just you, the green mess on the floor, and Gamzee's tipped-over chair. Despite your rising bewilderment (and small but growing feeling of dread, especially when you see that Damara hasn't answered your last text) you stand up the former and get down on your knees to start wiping up the latter. 

Might as well put off the process of puzzling this shit out a couple minutes longer.

* * *

_Cronus._

'dan's got his mouth open to yell at you when it happens. He's pissed and you deserve it, and that's the worst part. Or maybe the worst part is that you're growling at him even as it happens, right up 'til confusion steals your breath. 

No. All of that is bullshit; the worst part is the whole fuckin' thing. The way the fury on his face drains away like someone flipped a switch, how you don't have time to even say his name, the way _something_ eats him alive in a matter of seconds, takes him away and leaves no trace.

You're not growling anymore, no. You're whimpering, trying to call for him without being able to get air in through either your windpipe or your gills. Maybe you're screaming. You want to be screaming.

Someone is screaming. 

It's not you. 

When you break out of your broken frozen staring-at-where-Eridan-should-be state and stumble to the kitchen to beg Dualscar for help, you find that it's D. D is on his knees on the floor, sobbing and screaming for your dad to come back. 

But—

He can't—

They can't both be—

Oh stars and space, what did you _do_?


End file.
